Status: please

i have a memory that i didn't used to have. so maybe it's not a memory, maybe i just had a really vivid nightmare and my brain swallowed it and spat it back up as something i remember like it really happened. but the weird thing is, now that i've remembered it (dubious air quotes), whichever way i thought about this in the past seems wrong.

that doesn't make sense. here's the sense. i went back and read the post i wrote about being attacked by Rabbithead, and it just... wasn't right. that's not how it happened. i swear when i wrote that post, i thought i was being as accurate as possible. i wasn't yanking your chain around or whatever. i just wasn't right about it.

have you ever lain down in the middle of a road before? probably not, because it's generally a very stupid and pointless thing to do. so i'll start somewhere else.

you know when it's hot outside and the sun has been baking the road for a while, and you're an idiot kid who likes to run around outside with no shoes on, and maybe you're playing with some other idiot kids in the neighborhood, so you run across the road barefoot? you know how asphalt, when it's warm, feels sort of porous and spongy, and how it strikes up at your skin like you've touched a hot stove? you know how, if you sit on the ground for too long, little bits of gravel or dirt or other debris will leave little marks on your skin, almost like a rash?

think about all that. now imagine you're on a pitch dark road in the middle of a pine forest, somewhere in fuck-all's-ville, america (don't forget to vote, btw). sign of civilization are miles away from you in any given direction. there are no gas stations, no street lights casting puddles of red and green on the road, no driveways leading into subdivisions or lone houses. there aren't even street lamps to guide you, so you're left alone with your headlights and the cool glow of your dashboard (assuming you're in a car for logic and atmospheric reasons, bear with me). besides the moon and the stars, the only source of light comes from a meek neon sign announcing the existence of a hotel that is not real. a little further up the road you can see the faintest hint of what might be a gas station, which is good because you're running low, and you could really go for a steaming cup of the world's pissiest coffee.

are you imagining all that? good. now imagine that it's raining. hard. so hard that your headlights are useless and your wipers can't wipe fast enough. so maybe you pull over onto a wider stretch of shoulder to wait it out. you're parked right in front of the hotel, but you can't see it. or maybe you can, but you have the good sense enough not to pull into the parking lot and seek shelter there.

no, actually, we're going to imagine that you're an absolute moron. you know why? because something just walked out of the trees, a blot of darkness on top of darkness, and it's knocking on the passenger window. even through the torrential gushing of rain slamming against your car roof, you can hear the thing breathing.

when you don't open up, it breaks the glass, shards flying everywhere and slicing up your hands and face and arms. naturally, you freak the fuck out, and since we're pretending you're a moron, you immediately stumble your way out of the car and start sprinting down the road.

now you're where i was. now maybe you'll get a sense of how it felt.

when i left through the hotel lobby and went out on the road, i wasn't just standing out there. i wasn't exploring. i was running, full speed, throat burning in a desperate plea for more air. something had happened. i don't know what. but i was trying to get away. i swerved out onto the road, pine needles scraping the bare flesh of my arm. i didn't make it more than five feet away from the hotel sign when something massive and heavy slammed into my back, flinging me to the ground.

my chin bounced against the road, a starburst of cymbal-crash pain shooting from my nose into my skull. all the breath had been shoved from my body, and i gasped open-mouth for air that didn't come. the road was hot. my palms burned against the grit of the asphalt as i staggered to my feet. i had to keep going.

it was raining. it hadn't been raining a second ago, when i fell, but now the downpour was so thick it nearly turned the air white. the droplets sizzled as they struck the road, sending up clouds of steam. my palms and chin were throbbing, hot and raw, where they'd touched the road. luckily i had on shoes.

i managed another lurching step, but flaky, sinuous hands gripped my thigh, yanking it out from under me. i collapsed again, forehead cracking against the ground. the hands didn't let go of my leg; they were digging into the sensitive flesh behind my knee now, and i could feel my skin burst open beneath the nails, but the burn of the road against my stomach and arms was so intense i couldn't register any more pain. i dug my fists into the road anyway, heaving for traction, for any amount of momentum forward. the hands didn't let go. i was being pulled backwards, and where my skin was exposed it was like being drug over molten sandpaper.

i couldn't see in front of me past the rain and the steam and the tears in my eyes. i sobbed. "please," i gasped. i don't know who i was pleading with. i dropped my head, and my bottom lip burst with blood where it dragged against the road. every muscle in my body was on full flex and high alert, and i couldn't get away. it wouldn't let me go.

a shadow dropped across my useless line of sight, and then a second pair of hands grabbed at my biceps, tugging me forward. past the thrush of rain, i could hear a sick pop as my leg was pulled beyond its limit, and i could feel the drag of those razor fingernails as the first set of hands finally lost its hold. i think i screamed.

there was a flash of light, and the earth shuddered beneath me. i don't know if it was lightning or if i just passed out. when i came back to awareness a moment later, there was Rabbithead, straddling me. i was sprawled in a mess of mud and yellowing pine needles, the rain reduced almost to a drizzle as it filtered down between the branches of ancient trees. every part of me hurt. i whimpered.

Rabbithead's hands were on my neck, but they weren't squeezing. its decayed fingertips were just brushing the skin, feeling at the welts where i'd been burned.

"please," i said again.

that's when i woke up.

i think Rabbithead might have saved my life.

so why has she been trying so hard to take it ever since?

Comments (000-000000) | Leave a comment | Like | Share | Report

:

The comments on this post, along with most of the remaining entries following it, have been corrupted.